


White Blank Page

by black_ink_tide



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, F/M, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:45:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 15,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_ink_tide/pseuds/black_ink_tide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for k-meme:</p><p><em>Here's what I'm looking for:<br/>- Alistair and fem Warden have a huge, angsty, horrible things are said- fight and he walks out<br/>- for whatever reason, months or years later, Alistair realizes he was completely at fault and goes to try to get Fem warden back<br/>- However, Fem warden is PISSED about what Alistair did (that he didn't trust or listen to her, that he said horrible things, abandoned her, etc.) and she is mean and cold to him for a long time.<br/>- Lots of angsty fights, etc. while Alistair tries to win back her love and reestablish trust.<br/>- Finally, after a long time, she allows him back into her life and eventually they fall back in love.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Her mouth hurt, and she tasted hot copper in her throat.

Staring up into the white sky, Avarie Tabris didn’t move. Couldn’t move. For sixteen years, she had been living, surviving in this place… and on that pure white morning, she decided that had been enough. She was ready for the earth to swallow her up… to just crack open beneath her, and inhale her. Body, memory and soul.

The deep, laughing voices had long ago melted into echoes and then into nothing. Gone. Headed west, with their pockets full of sticky gold and silver coins.

Coins that had once been warmed in her mother’s pocket.

They’d left her here, lying on the side of a dusty forgotten road. It was silence. Stretching everywhere. The world had gone quiet. And she floated here, where ever this was, between existence and not. She floated inside a held breath.

But even that couldn’t last.

“Stay away from her, Half Breed!”

Voices were scaling back her way, and as she sank back against the hard packed soil, she could feel footsteps, heavy and fast. Coming towards her. Back to her.

Strong hands grabbed her under the arms, pulling her upward.

“Get up, Ava! Get up!” the male voice cracked.

She slumped against the body holding her. The metallic taste on her tongue was overwhelming, and she turned her head to spit out a mouthful of blood.

The world was full of horrible sound. And the sky was not clean and white, but dawn stained sickly yellow. And then, with a deep ache behind her eyes, she remembered. She had lay there all night. They had left her here, after hitting her, after putting a blade in her mouth, after _hurting_ her…

“Please, Ava. Fight back!”

“N-Nox?”

The human holding her exhaled a strange sound against her ear, “Please don’t give up yet.”

She had lurched away from him, standing on her own two unsteady legs. She looked at him, and saw panic in familiar blue-green eyes. Her best friend's eyes.

His face was bruised. His eye swollen, a deep fresh cut running through his eyebrow, nearly to his eye. The human bastard of a dead elf woman and a human warrior long gone, Nox had been by her side through all of this. Every day. Every fight. They’d both been targeted by the noble’s son… two alienage rats that gave good chase.

But that day, in Lennox Carver’s bloody face, she saw something totally new. A mature hate, a hardness. She filled her lungs with electric air.

“We have to get you out of here. Vaughn’s coming back. Please…” he extended his hand to her.

She took it.


	2. Chapter 2

He watched her hands, every night. Those tiny bone-white hands.

She held the nubby bit of graphite between her pale fingers, the leather cover of her journal cradled against her thighs. Her hand moved quickly across the rough water-stained paper. Long lines, shaded edges, shapes and memories rather than words.

Avarie Tabris could neither read nor write.

 _“For me, it wasn’t important,” she had shrugged, her voice confident but quiet, as they stood side by side under an anti-Warden poster in Denerim. She had asked him what it said, asked him to read it to her._

Each night, and they’d now been on the road together for nearly a full season, she’d sit with the journal, and work across a full page before rising, grinning unevenly at him, and saying goodnight before disappearing into her tent. It was a ritual, if not a sanctified one.

He sat across the fire from her, unnoticed. It was comforting to sit, warm with a full belly (or, rather, as full as it got these days) and absorb a bit of her calm. When she was in the journal, she didn’t notice him watching her, and it was the only time of the day that he could really do just that. Look at her; watch her… take her in. Her face was small with high wide cheekbones and a funny little square chin. Pale freckled skin, crooked teeth, soft grey eyes, faded peppered scars, including the puckered line that curled about an inch from the right corner of her mouth towards her ear, an extended, permanent smirk.

Her dark red hair fell in messy waves against her jaw. He thought of the morning she had taken one of her blades to a much longer mane. Without a word, she had sliced through the hair, dropping fistfuls of it to the dewy morning grass. Leliana blanched when she did it, and chastised her for destroying something so beautiful for the rest of that day. The memory of her that morning brought a smile to his lips. She was like a bird, a beautiful little red bird shedding feathers she no longer needed, letting them loose to float away on a breeze. He had ruffled her hair that morning as they walked towards the edge of the forest, and he could still feel the astonishing softness of the shorn strands between his fingers if he thought about it. And tonight, looking at her through the flames, and all he wanted to do was plunge his fingers through that unruly, dark, messy hair, and hold her against himself, inhale the warmth of her… feel the round solid reality of her head, the softness of her skin, her wry pink lips…

Her eyes snapped to him. She saw him. Caught him. He cleared his throat and tried to keep his gaze level with hers, to hold his own against those strange fog colored eyes… but falling into rapid, flustered blinking, he looked away, randomly rolling his head back to look at the stars past the rising smoke.


	3. Chapter 3

Men, as a whole, were and always had been faceless to her.

They had been frightening to her once, a long lifetime ago. She had been afraid of them. Men traveled in packs, like wolves or stray dogs… but Men also had a sense of power bred into them. As a race. As a breed. As a pack.

She had been afraid of Men when she was small. When her mother was still alive. She had hid from them, crouching into small spaces, burrowing out of sight.

There had always been one that she trusted. Nox. Lennox. If men were dogs, he was a mutt. And he had been… safe. Raised in the alienage by a reluctant uncle, the only family he had. But he had left shortly after that day, that day on the hill. Moved to a place in Rivain to learn a trade, to become a man. He had grown up and left her alone there.

Men had proved their malice over time. Men had killed her mother. Men had cut her, _hurt_ her. But she was tough, and had worn this scar suit of armor under her skin for years and years, and she was no longer capable of feeling what she would call fear. Maybe it was hate. But that was giving them too much credit.

But Alistair was different. He was confusing. Strange. Familiar to her in a way she couldn’t really understand.

The truth was… she didn’t know what to make of him. Or what to make of the way that she felt _with_ him.

He watched her. He walked close to her. He protected her against the impossible increasingly large monsters they faced everyday now. He protected her with himself, with his body and his shield. He protected her from fire, and steel, and magic.

She felt safe beside him. Beside this one man. She laughed at his jokes, leaned against his warmth, and surprised herself by not pulling away from him when he very carefully cupped her face in his enormous, sweet nervous hands and kissed her on the mouth.

Alistair was different. He was not a part of that pack of men. He was alone, and awkward, and scarred, just like her.

And more than anything else, Alistair had a _face_.


	4. Chapter 4

The only thing she knew was the hard crack of the flagstones under her knees and a vague recollection of falling.

This… Landsmeet had not gone as she’d hoped. She had felt like a child, a hungry, filthy… idiot child. Staring down at her splayed hands, she saw all the dirt and the blood dried under her broken nails.

 _Why would they care what I think? Why make me the one responsible??_

But they had. And she had done the best she could.

She had made the decision.

The repercussions sprawled, ugly and endless away from her.

And she thought she was doing the _right_ thing.

She had that man’s throat at her blade, and… she couldn’t explain it. It felt like enough. There had been enough death. Enough blood. Killing. But all of it had taken place in the dark, in frightening place… a places where it was a matter of killing to survive. But this… had been nothing like that. She had spared him, because her body could not stomach murdering a man in the bright, cold light of the court.

She could not comprehend this kind of killing. It was murder all the same, and there was already enough blood. This was the kind of murder she could never understand. Not about surviving. About… winning.

And he had shocked her then. Alistair. This man she had loved… still loved… had railed for Loghain’s blood. Alistair wanted his head as it was so willingly offered.

He was alive because of her word.

But Alistair was gone… not king, not a warden, not hers any longer. And it all happened in a moment.

She knelt on the stones. There were arms around her, but her head felt submerged. At least she had made it out of the hall. At least she had made it outside, and that… court… had not seen her fall. She felt impossibly tiny. Weak. Sickly.

It was Zevran who picked her up, carried her away from the doors before the hall emptied.

It was Leliana she curled up next to that night in a bed, sobbing… too stunned to be embarrassed. She was out of her body… a body which now felt strange and numb and awkward. Too small and too big. Out of place, out of sorts.

Avarie had not cried since her own mother’s death. She had taken the punches, the lashes, the attacks, the losses, the guilt and the responsibilities of the last decade without tears. But on this one night… when she had been forced by his inability to step up and take control into a role she didn’t belong in… when everything had been ripped out of her… she cried hot bitter tears.

One choice… one choice in the thousands of choices she had made because he wouldn’t… it was enough. And he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Loghain survived the blood and Riordan had told them the truth about what it meant to _kill_ the Archdemon.

" _It takes your soul with it? Into nothing?_ "

She was grateful for it. Ready. Finally.

“Ava…”

Morrigan took her hand gently in her own. Ava registered the contact slowly, looking dumbly at their entwined fingers. Morrigan was warmer than she ever would have thought.

She felt the tiny prick of a sharp tool against the pad of one fingertip and recoiled, drawing her hand back against her chest, “What was that for?”

“I’m curious, nothing more.”

“Curious??”

She followed the witch down the hall, and crossed into Morrigan’s room, elbowing the door open. Morrigan had her back to her, bent over a tiny candle’s flame. She held the sharp implement over the flame and Ava watched as a dark drop of her own blood fell from the end into the flame. It flared a strange purple color.

Morrigan sighed. A sincere, sad sound that put Avarie on a knife's edge.

“It is as I had suspected…” she turned, looking up at Avarie from where she crouched.

“What are you talking about?”

“I would think… perhaps I should not have…” Morrigan’s lips pursed, “But you should know, I suppose. Even now.”

Avarie’s blood chilled, “ _What_ , Morrigan?”

But she already knew. The changes in her body more than just the taint in her blood.

She had known days before the Landsmeet. She hadn’t known how to tell him… figuring she could wait until after—

“I suppose congratulations would be in poor taste, given the circumstances,” Morrigan smiled sadly at her, but she focused only on the tiny flickering flame.


	6. Chapter 6

He was waiting for her.

He was standing there, arms folded, waiting for her.

His eyes were cold fires, long burnt out. All the was left was this ash and wrath.

He _wanted_ to hurt her.

 

She was going to explode. It was too much, too much. She wasn’t _big_ enough for all of this. Not at once.

Maybe… maybe it would just take care of itself.

Maybe she didn’t want it to take care of itself.

Maybe she wanted to keep it. Maybe he would have, too.

If. If she survived this, then she would need to decide--

 

“He lived?”

She stopped, her heart lurching forward, as if it wanted to just keep going but her body held it back, here, where it was dangerous.

Alistair stood in front of her, blocking her path. He smelled different. Sharp. Like anger and hate.

She didn’t want this… not like this.

“Yes.”

He scoffed and stepped backwards, “You’ve made him a hero.”

“I thought you’d left,” the hairs on the back of her neck raised.

“No… not yet.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know," he meant it, "Nothing keeping me here, is there?”

She swallowed hard, her heart beating dryly in her throat, “No.”

“You really think… you really think any of them gave a damn what you think?” the sneer in his voice was foreign, cold. It was as if a new spirit had entered his body, a monstrous exchange. “You gave them what they wanted, the lot of them. And you loved it, didn’t you? Having a sense of power… the power to save his life…” he leaned in close to her face, but she remained still, stone still, “The power to save _my_ life? The power to say yes or no… well, I can imagine that’d be a real novelty, wouldn’t it—“

She lashed out, hitting him hard in the face with one hand and on the return, grabbing her small blade.

It was an old reflex… an old instinct. She was a creature more feral than the leader she had become, the _loved_ woman she had been for a time…

But that was over now. She saw it in his face, heard it in his tone. He was out for blood, even though she seriously doubted he would physically strike her. Even now. If he wanted to fight… fine. She could fight.

“If you’re gonna go, go and sod off already. Leave the rest of us to clean up the mess. I gave you what you wanted. I gave you everything you wanted. Everything. But… when I showed mercy, when I tried to—“

“He doesn’t deserve mercy. Not after—“

“No? Who're you do decide that, Alistair? They died. We all die. Sooner or later. It's really fucking sad, but that's what happens. He’ll die, very soon. I swear that much. And probably so will I, and--” she averted her eyes from him, from his hard face, “We have to finish this thing. That's what Duncan woul--”

“DON’T! Don’t… say his name,” he pushed her hard against the wall, his weight on her, his arm colliding hard against her belly.

In a fast, fierce motion, she slashed at him with her small blade. She had more to protect than she was willing to tell him. He hissed, reeling back from her, hand held over the fresh cut on his arm. Shock.

Two nights ago, they had been together. They had slept in each other’s arms and made promises. This had all fallen apart so quickly.

But the choice had been made. On both sides.

“Wait. Wait until after this is done. Wait and see if an illiterate alienage elf has any power after this is over. Wait and see if the people you kept alive continue to give a shit about what you think. _Wait_. Because… I promise you this, when this is done, they’ll have you back behind that rotting wall.”

“You coward! Always. Hiding behind me, hiding behind Eamon, or your father. Hiding behind your lucky birth. You didn’t even want to be King.”

“No, but I wanted revenge, I wanted justice—“

“At what cost? Huh? The end of the world to see one man die. You sodding coward," she shook her head, biting back nausea and hot bitter tears, "Go on, then, go. Go! I’ll finish this, because you can’t, because you never could've.”

He stood his ground, breathing hard, his fists balled at his sides. Blood flowed freely down his arm, a thin river, changing course around the fair gold hair. She thought for a moment, just for a moment, that he might crush her. This close, he seemed massive. A wall. He had been her wall, her protection. But now, here, in this morning’s light, he was a threat. Another shem… she felt a strange, alien fluttering in her belly. Involuntarily, she held her hand over the source of the flutter.

Her baby moved and her heart shattered.

“I loved who you were,” she said, needing to say the words… but her tone was flat, “Go, and leave the rest of us to burn.”

“Good luck with your new hero,” he snarled, waving a hand dismissively in her direction.

And without another word, he turned and stalked out. She waited until the shadow of him faded into nothing, the footsteps that had carried him away from her, from them, were just a memory held nowhere but in the frantic beat of her heart.


	7. Chapter 7

Aftermath. It was a word that had existed before that day. She couldn’t remember ever using it. It never seemed appropriate. It was always too massive a word for what had been, by comparison, such small tragedies.

Avarie understood Aftermath as a place, rather than an idea. She could describe it in as vivid detail as she could describe the palace tapestries as she stood near the throne to greet important humans who wished to meet the woman, not the elf, who had saved Ferelden. She memorized Aftermath. She committed it to a page in her journal.

Aftermath was a quiet place and slowly, familiar faces drifted away from its borders. Her companions. Her team. Her friends. Morrigan was first to go, before the fight had even begun. Then Sten. Then Wynne. Leliana had stuck close to her side throughout the weeks that passed. Zevran was still in Denerim, but mostly out of sight, preferring to not remain a high profile figure a moment longer than she specifically requested of him.

At first, there had been more questions. More performances. She stood beside a Queen, and made more decisions. There was applause. Cheering. She had asked for more rights in the alienage, for her people, her race. She had said, too quietly, that she wished to travel. And oh, how badly she wanted to travel, to run away. To just start running in any direction and not stop until she reached the sea. And then, she would swim.

She did not want to be in charge anymore. She was not ready for that kind of responsibility… and she’d had enough death, and that’s all this city and these people were to her anymore.

And, despite all odds, everything she should have believed, there was life in this place. Life inside her. A curious little life, a warm ember, and it was her duty to keep it safe.

The important nobles came and went. She never fully shook the feeling that her race was still a curiosity to them… and when those thoughts crept up on her, usually when her hand was clasped tightly between a Bann’s soft unblemished palms, she remembered Alistair’s words.

His words stung deeply, etched on the cool pale shell of her soul.

Anora asked if she would be willing to meet a selection of the citizens and soldiers who had been waiting patiently to meet her, to meet their Hero for weeks. She agreed to it.

As the group ambled into the otherwise empty hall, she felt herself warm, just a bit. These had been the people she was fighting for, the people she had lost so much of herself for. And they were a curious little group.

Elves and men and dwarves, men and women and a few children who seemed far more interested in the high vaulted ceilings and royal decorations than the tiny, pale elf who stood on the third step at the end of this long, regal carpet.

These people were good. They thanked her for her service, and they meant it. She looked her in the eyes, and in their faces, she didn’t see the calculating noble gaze. They saw her as their Hero, which was in and of itself, a heavy responsibility.

As they spoke to her, thanking her, one face in the group caught her attention.

Steady, unusual blue-green eyes smiled up at her.

She knew his eyes before she recognized his face.

“Oh! And my lady,” a round heavily bearded man who had seemingly taken it upon himself to personally introduce the crowd to her clapped the smaller man on the shoulder,

“This man came all the way from Rivain to help. Arrived just in time, he did. He makes armor up there in the North, and he got here just as the fighting began. Got in there with the men, fixing their armor as they needed. Saw a bit of fighting too, eh, lad?”

Lennox laughed, thumbing the greenish ghost of a bruise along his jaw, “I never was much for running away from a fight.”

“But more for running into one?” she said, feeling a smile crack across her face.

He shrugged, grinning, “It’s a bad habit.”

“My lady Hero, this gentleman also traveled a great distance to help,” the bearded man continued, attempting to draw her attention away from Lennox and back to a very blonde dwarf who stood beside him.

Avarie could not bring herself to break eye contact with her oldest friend, and it was he who politely looked away from her to listen to the man’s description of the dwarf’s great deeds.

She spent more time with the group than she had anticipated, grateful to met real people at last. But she was anxious to speak to Lennox, who she still kept thinking was some kind of apparition. She blinked hard, expecting that when she opened her eyes, he would be gone, replaced by someone else.

The group began to make their exit, lead by their garrulous bearded leader.

“Ser,” she said, using her best Leader Voice, “The gentleman from Rivain, I would like a word.”

He shook hands with the man, and then lingered as the rest of them made a boisterous exit.

After the doors closed, she dropped the Leader Act and awkwardly flung herself into her friend’s arms, “Are you real??”

His laugh rumbled against her, “I think so.”

She pulled away from him, taking him in. It had been years, and he was bigger than she had ever known him to be. Bulkier than alienage life would ever have allowed him to become, and strong. Dressed in plain travel clothes and a worn leather coat, Lennox Carver looked more like home to her than anything she had ever seen. She scanned his human face, trying to sort out the familiar from the new. He was in there, in this man’s face. He was a little taller than he had been when she last saw him, but not tall by human standards. His brown hair was unwashed, and short, brushed away from his broad forehead. A white scar cut through his eyebrow.

“I never thought I’d see this place again,” his voice was warm, “In fact, when I left, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t. But… when I heard about what was happening here… It was a long journey, but I travel fast. I flew. Because, I thought about that place behind a wall. And all I could think about was that place burning… I thought of you, trapped behind a wall.”

“You always did know when I’d gotten into a fight I couldn’t win.”

“Seems to me that you won this one.”

“It looks that way from the outside,” the words were harsher than she had intended.

He cocked his head to the side, his warm smile fading as he studied her face.

“I’ve been inside all day. I need some air,” she extended her hand to him, “Walk with me.” He closed the distance, taking her hand in his own.

He squeezed her fingers, “You look… really good.”

“You are a terrible liar, Ser Carver.”

“No, I mean it. You look _strong_.”

They walked slowly together, out of the heavy doors and into the bright mid-morning light.

"You look beautiful."

“The alienage was hit hard, have you been there yet?” she asked crisply, remembering a foolish stand at the frail wooden gates, the cracking of wood and the tight, desperate sound of elvish bows held at the ready.

He shook his head, no, “Is you family all right?”

“Mostly.”

“They’re calling you the Hero of Ferelden.”

She rolled her eyes, “Yean. I’ve heard that.”

“They’re going to build a statue of you.”

She grinned, dipping her head. His voice was different, a man’s voice, made rough by years of smoke… but he still sounded like him. He was teasing her, and that gentle ribbing was a balm.

“We’ll see how much it ends up looking like me, eh? I bet they’ll make me taller.”

“Oh, you’ll be a giant. A leggy warrior goddess.”

“And not a runty little sneak-thief?”

“No… I think not. Though, I’d definitely like that better.”

“I wonder if you’ll be able to see it from the alienage,” she stopped walking, and he looked at her, quite seriously, “Are you all right?”

The courtyard was quiet, deserted at this time of day, while life buzzed in the nearby market. She shook her head, averting her eyes which, though very dry, burned.

He took her hand, “What will you do now? I heard they asked you to stay and be--”

“I don’t want to stay here," she felt like a bomb had gone off in her chest, "I don’t want to lead anybody. I just…”

“Come with me? You can come back with me…" he shrugged, his brows knit tightly in concern, "I have… I have a house. You can stay there, with me.”

A sound bubbled out of her, a strangled sob, or laugh. She didn't know which.


	8. Chapter 8

A fortnight later, they were staying the night in a small inn in the Free Marches.

It was a nice change to travel like this, riding in a wagon rather than walking, sleeping indoors rather than on a thin lumpy bedroll. Though... she missed the company. Leliana had been gracious when she told her about her plans to travel, alone, with this mysterious male friend. She offered to come, but Ava had said that she wouldn’t want to put her out. It was a long journey.

The reality was that with Nox she could pretend a little that the years had not really passed. He was from another time. Another version of her. Still… a hurt version, but not nearly so damaged or hardened. If Leliana was there, it would make it more difficult to… believe the little lies she was telling herself. And she had been so eager, giddy, to pretend.

The sat across each other at a small table, a full meal making them both drowsy, and cool ale making them both a more talkative.

There was a large fire, and the room was cozy and warm, filled with the clatter of dinner and the murmur of conversations.

She was thankfully anonymous here, another nondescript elf woman among many. And really, most shems thought they all looked alike anyway.

He reclined in his seat, looking at the fire, and said in a conversational tone, “I’ve always hated my blood.”

“I know how you feel,” she said, mouth twisting as she finished what was to be her last ale.

“I mean… I’d have given anything to just, be an elf. Anything to have had a father who…” he waved his hand as if clearing smoke, “If I’d been an elf, our lives could have been so different.”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

He reached across the table, his hands heavy on hers, “When Uncle Gareth got that job, in Rivain, it wasn’t him that they wanted. They wanted me. The armorer, Wade, he was a 'friend' of Gareth’s. Well, they had been friends. More than that. Anyway, Gareth told him about…” he couldn’t think of the right way to say it, but she nodded anyway, “told him that I needed to get out of Denerim. Wade knew a guy in Rivain who wanted an apprentice, a human apprentice. And he took Gareth with me… as a package deal.”

“I hated that to the rest of the world, I was supposed to matter more, be worth more. More than Gareth… more than you…” his brow furrowed, and he looked down at the table, “I didn’t want to leave you there. I never stopped feeling like agreeing to go was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

“But we never-”

“I know. Your father would never have allowed it. I knew, I _know_ that. The thought of you there, and the Blight… I couldn’t stop imagining you hurt or dying there, in that city, in that… you are so much better than the fate I thought…”

He took her thin wedding band between his fingers and twisting, ever so slightly, “What happened? You haven’t—“

She snatched her hand away, and pushed back from the table. He saw his face fall, his mouth open to… _what? Apologize?_

She took off, quickly running back to their room, shutting the door behind her.

Nox caught the bartender shaking his head at him, then shrugging in an irritatingly knowing way.

He rose and followed her, trying to open the door. She had locked it.

“Ava… please let me in.”

There was a long, silent pause. Then he heard the bolt slide and pushed the door open.

“What was that-”

“You have the worst timing,” she said, her voice oddly high, “You always came for me, always ran in to save me… but…”

“But I’ve always been a little too late?”

She sank onto the edge of one of the single beds, “He died. He died trying to save me.”

“Who? Who died?” he knelt in front of her, careful not to touch her as she very, VERY clearly did not want to be touched right now.

“My husband.”

He blinked.

“Or my… I don’t know… we never finished the ceremony. I took this off of his body. Then I killed Vaughn.”

“WHAT?”

She had told him about the monsters, the politics, the adventure part of her adventures… but couldn’t bring herself to break the spell of their time together by telling him about the ugly parts. The messy parts. The unfinished parts. There was so much she hadn’t told him. But he had touched the present by twisting that band around her finger, pushed the issue, and it crushed against her now.

So, she told him. Everything. In a quiet voice, with her eyes focused on her hands, or the cobweb in the far corner.

She told him about Duncan and Ostagar. She told him about Alistair. She told him about the Landsmeet.

She told him about the baby.

“H-how long?”

“The Spring. I’ll have my child in the Spring.”

“Maker’s breath, Ava. Nothing’s ever easy, is it?”

She said nothing, just stared at the floorboards, resting her hands over her slightly curved belly.

The bed dipped beside her as he sat. After a moment, he draped his arm around her, gently. She leaned into him.

She stopped pretending.

And the murky coldness crept back into her but with it was an unexpectedly strong ache to be touched.


	9. Chapter 9

He was lying on his back. Pain seared his nerves and coursed out of his body in a thick rhythm. Straining, Alistair lifted his head enough to look down at himself, half expecting the lower half of his body to be gone entirely. Severed. The wound he saw was large, gaping and dark, through the middle of him, but his legs remained, looking pathetic and still. Too still.

Throwing his head back, he let loose a howl into the empty, preternaturally silent forest around him. The leaves were dry and dead beneath his body, and as he writhed pitifully, they stuck to him. Blood pooled, dark and red and metallic under and around him. He could see it like a shadow in his peripheral vision as he stared up, up into the bare dead branches. This was a dead forest. And he was a part of it. He had always been a part of it.

He cried out again, not for help in any language, but just the sound of pain. The burning sensation of his blood leaving him, pooling out of him… of himself disappearing into this dry, dead place.

His head lolled to the right. There was another body there. A man. He did not recognize him, but his face was still, eyes glassy and unmoving. The man lay in a pool of blood as well, and it continued a slow creep towards him.

Struggling, he pushed as hard as he could against the ground, lifting himself up. Another body, across from him. This body was smaller… familiar and small. A woman. She coughed, a thick frightening sound. The blood that leeched towards him was hot, and sweet… familiar. It had a sound, a song… just that blood. He could not see her face. And her hair was soaked with blood, black and caked in the darkness.

But this woman was alive, and so was he. For the moment.

He tried to speak, but the blood in his throat was too thick. He watched her breathing, ragged and painful.

There was a sound behind him. A very faint crunching of leaves. He looked, snapping his head around. The action was too much, and dizziness overtook him. His skull fell back to the dirt, and he could not lift it again. The woman continued to breathe.

Before him, a strange, delicate bird walked towards him. It seemed to glow in the moonlight. Its body was small and round, long neck, tiny head with the most inquisitive little face. The bird watched him, dark eyes unblinking. He reached a bloodied hand towards the creature, feeling then as if it could understand him.

The bird took another step towards him, head bobbing cautiously. He saw now that though is body was small, behind it trailed silvery, impossibly thin feathers which fanned out, beautiful, like a constellation in the night sky. As the bird moved closer, it’s tail folded neatly and trailed behind it.

The blood continued to spread. And as the bird reached the edge of the dry soil, it paused. Then it, no… she, stepped into the blood. It stained her delicate little feet, but she walked quicker to him. Her tail soaked up the red, which seemed so clearly, vibrantly colored against her pure whiteness.

The woman’s blood was closer to him now. He could smell it. Sweet. Song Blood, that hummed with the life it had carried. Her blood touched his blood… and the other man’s blood as well. They all lay in one large dark pool.

The bird, now more red than white, rested her tiny head against his cheek.

He closed his eyes. Her breath was cool on his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he choked on the words.

He opened his eyes, and sitting beside him was no bird, but a little girl, no bigger than two or three years old. Thick curly hair framed an impossibly round face. She touched his cheek with a cold tiny hand. The white nightgown she wore soaked up the blood, and it rose towards her face too fast.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he wheezed, then found the strength, what had to be his last, to lift himself up, and sitting, pull the child towards him. Holding her tightly against his ragged chest.

He had to do this. He had to take her away from here. From the blood.

She curled her fingers into his hair, held on to him tightly, and he lurched upward. But his body could not do this for long… so he moved while he could. Towards the tree line. Dry soil. And once there, he fell to his knees, the child still clutched to him.

“I’ll keep you safe.”

Alistair woke, not with a gasp, but a wary, tired groan.

The dreams had been more vivid. Strange and so very, very real.

Alistair swung his long legs out of bed, pushing the sweaty linen sheets away from his body. He rose, and crossed to the small basin across the room. He splashed his face with cool clean water, then leaned heavily against the wall, cold water dripping from his face. A small cracked mirror was propped against a tiny wooden ledge, and he reluctantly dragged his eyes up to meet his reflection there.

It had been nearly five years. Five years of anonymity. Five years of guilt.

Five years of growing the fuck up.

He could never go back to Ferelden, that much was secured. He was fine with that, now anyway. There had been a time, in the midst of those very dark, clouded years where he wanted to, even tried to return.

Times when he wanted to find her, to fight her or fuck her or... something.

Other times when he wanted to crawl at her feet and beg for forgiveness he didn’t deserve.

In five years, he had aged significantly. There was already grey streaking at his temples, wrinkles beside his eyes, and on days like today, his skin felt so thin… probably a combination of lifestyle and the dark commitment swirling in his blood. Still, he was in far better shape now than he had been. He was strong, but leaner than he had been during the Blight. Now, he did not drink. He fought, and his form and the memories embedded in his muscles returned to him, with time. He was healthy enough. He was still a large, strong man. A warrior.

But the dreams kept happening.

He would wake, knowing with more certainty than the last time, that the faceless woman in his dream was her… she was Ava.

Whatever else had happened, when those dreams started, they had driven him to a kind of madness. He had attempted to drown them out, to drink more, to obliterate them and what remained of himself.

He glanced down at his forearm, and ran his thumb across the small faded scar there. Where this strange life had started. That day. When he had said things to her that should never have been said…

He had loved her. He really had. She was the only one he had ever loved.

He touched the scar with more reverence than any of the others that skated across his body. This one, this small mark… he had deserved so much more.

He had joined this small band of warriors to fight the many small darkspawn uprisings that had happened over the last year or so. This was what he was meant to do. To fight these monsters, drive them back down, into the dark. And he did it now without the heralds. Instead, he was regarded as a skilled fighter, slightly better than the rest. Not a griffon-riding hero. Not a royal blooded bastard. Not a coward who had left the battlefield on the last day of days.

He washed his face again, dressed, put on his nondescript armor, and ventured out to fight another day.


	10. Chapter 10

He had arrived too late.

He could never explain it to the others… would never be able to really tell them why he had known that he needed to travel in this direction, had to fight his way through torrential rain that hung low and dark over the entire valley to get here, to find this place. Why he had left them, the men… they traveled too slowly, and he had to reach this place. Had to. The darkspawn had swarmed… unusually thick, hairy bodied monsters… different from anything they’d seen before. They had looked like giant black insects from a distance, hunched and devouring what remained of an entire village.  
He’d felt them… he’d been drawn to them as if by a hook under his ribs.

Pulled here.

He had killed them, yes, but the battle was hard, and even now, long after it was finished and quiet had fallen heavy and consuming, he panted for breath.

Alistair tipped his head back, eyes closed to the cold rain that continued to fall.

There was no air here. This was a dead place. A place to leave. An underworld.

He was dizzy, even with his feet firmly planted on this wet soil. The lure had been so strong… over powering.

They had called him here.

He stretched his arms at his sides, letting the water rinse the blood from his armor. He had accepted this -- He was a vessel for this tainted blood that communicated with the darkness. They were him, and he was them. It was just the state of things. There was such simplicity to it. Balance.

He tilted his head up, breath rising as visible steam. He wished he could have gotten here sooner. Done some good… helped these people.

He felt a shiver course through him, down in the marrow, and again, he felt it… the lure. The tug of that hook inside of him. Darkness rolling towards him.

He turned, and watched as the enormous body of one of these hirsute darkspawn crumpled, rolling with the momentum of its accumulated speed, falling to the muddy ground dead just a few feet from where he stood. A long dark arrow drew a hard line through the beast’s throat.

“Maker!” he staggered backwards.

Through the rain, Alistair saw her. Stone still, bow in hard bone-white hands. An angel, presiding with a drawn bow over this dead place. Avarie.

In a fluid motion, she moved the bow to her back, crouched and ran through the rain towards the black mass of the dead beast. He saw the glint of a dagger, and she was there, dressed in bloody leather armor, hair long and wet against her back. She landed on top of the beast, plunging her blade into it, over and over, feral and savage… letting go a plaintive growl.

He stood silent, momentarily dumbstruck by her sudden existence here. He watched as she continued a frantic onslaught on the dark dead beast beneath her, straddling it as she tore it apart. Pulp remained.

“Stop!” Alistair said, his voice ragged.

Snapping, tempest grey eyes sparked up at him even through the darkness.

She focused on him.

“Alistair.” His name was a dry statement, with no sense of surprise.

She wiped her blade on the grass, then sheathed it and rose.

She moved differently than she had before… more fluid, and she possessed a fierce poise… no longer the scrappy fighter she had been at his side, all those years ago. She was older, yes, but unlike him, she seemed to have filled out, and her face glowed even in this darkness. She looked healthy, if a bit mad.

She looked him over, standing across the shredded remains of the darkspawn, that old acidic smell rising like smoke in the rain.

“I heard a rumor that you were drinking yourself to death.”

“I was.”

“Did you give up on that dream?”

He laughed bitterly, “Yeah.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

She made a clucking sound in her throat before turning away from him, back towards the treeline. She quickly ran back towards the treeline, her feet making no sound.

“Wait!” he said, following.

She did not stop, but seemed to slip into the shadows, dematerializing into the dark wet forest.

He heard the sound of hooves, echoing through the dead silence. She rode away, as quickly as she had arrived. Like a ghost.

He looked back at the dismantled darkspawn. Efficient, if excessive. Like a mercenary hit with a sense of joy.

He considered his options. He could return to the men… they would journey on, killing the beasts as they found them. It would be a good enough life. They would do some good… a good service, a life of sacrifice, still very much in the vein of what his life would have been like with the Wardens.

He considered it. He really did.

But his body moved him without conscious thought. His feet moved, along the path she had gone. He followed her… seeing her again, in his waking life… she was as much a lure to him as the darkspawn, if not more powerful. They shared blood, too.

He followed her, knowing without knowing that he would find her, here in this dark wet northern country, because ultimately… that path was always going to lead him there, to her.

It was the first time he had felt faith in anything for a very long time.


	11. Chapter 11

He tracked her, which was not an easy task.

She was adept at becoming invisible when she wanted to be… clever rogue that she was. Alistair had one advantage, being that as he grew closer to her, there was a sense, very similar to the sensation he felt when the darkspawn were near… but gentler. That dream blood-song... A link between them. He became accustomed to following those vague inklings, became more attuned to them… and after a few weeks, he could find traces of her with little difficulty. Maybe it was a little pathetic, but it wasn’t as if he really had anyone to impress, was it?

He actually enjoyed it, if he was honest. It gave him a feeling of moving towards something tangible. Not just the inevitable… but to her. Indistinguishable as the two might have been at time.

Seeing her again… there were so many things he wished he would have said. He replayed the strange encounter over and over in his mind as he walked alone. He wanted to apologize, but there weren’t enough words in this language to do it properly. He felt like the Alistair that had walked away from her in Denerim was a different person entirely… a fool. A boy.

He fantasized sometimes that she would accept his apology, that she would listen to him, tuck her hair behind her artfully pointed ears and listen to what he had to say… to think that she would actually take him back was the ultimate fantasy. He would lie on his little bedroll and see her wrapping her arms around his neck as he would cradle her against his body, breathe her in, kiss those perfectly imperfect lips and…

Then he would remember her, straddling a darkspawn in a dead village, savagely tearing it apart until nothing remained but gore and bone… and the dream image of her would flicker away. This Avarie was changed too… by the years that had separated them.. by his stupid actions. Still, he would try to be optimistic about what could happen, even if the mature cynical voice inside of him urged caution.

In a new town. A new place. The center of this town was lit brightly, torches blazing. There were people out, decorations and the unmistakable sounds of a festival. Laughter and music and the clinking of silverware, plates, glasses and cups.

He hung back, staying near the edge of the festivities. He looked like any other traveler… save for the much used sword and shield across his back. It wasn’t so unusual, but he did receive a few wary glances. His stomach rumbled loudly as the smell of meat cooking reached his nose.

It was a harvest festival. Eventually, his hunger pushed him forward and he filled a plate with meat and great buttery potatoes.

He inhaled the meal, then sat at one of the long decorated tables, elbow propped beside his empty plate, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. After so much solitude, it did feel nice, if a bit overwhelming, to be in the midst of such a large crowd.

He felt it, in his chest, that unreal tug. Not a darkspawn... her.

“Are you following me?”

She stood with her arms crossed, dressed in a black linen dress, belted tightly at her slim waist. Hair in loose braids behind her shoulders.

He swallowed, then realized there was no point in lying, “Seems that way.”

“Don’t,” she sat across from him, her hands folded tensely, “Don’t.”

It was a warning.

He was close enough to her now that if he leaned across the table, leaned forward just a bit, he could brush his fingers against her cheek. The murderous glint in her eyes, however, stayed his hand.

“I don’t think…” he cleared his throat, all preparations for this conversation evaporating out of his brain and his blood thrummed in his ears, “I just wanted to say--”

“Dammit, Alistair,” she seethed, standing up, pushing away from the table, “Stay out of my life.”

He waited for her to finish, “—I’m sorry.”

She laughed, a hard bitter sound, and leaned over the table top, her hands close to his. Her face was near enough to his that he could feel her breath on his skin, “Well, thanks so much for that. No harm done? Is that what you want to hear?”

Her words were daggers, serrated and tearing… eyes alight with what he very quickly recognized as hate.

“You want me to say that I forgive you? That I’ve never stopped loving you? That I want you? Is that how this plays out, Alistair? Easy and clean… and I beg you to take me upstairs in that inn and make love to me in a big bed and we both come together and we are all better… because you’re sorry?”

She bit the last word.

His mouth was dry, his blood icy and still as he held her gaze, refusing to flinch or respond… to let her see him react.

“Go fuck yourself,” she purred.

She pulled away from him and walked away quickly into the crowd, vanishing in a blink of the eye.


	12. Chapter 12

He kept his distance, yes, but he continued to follow her… followed the lure of her.

She traveled, riding a grey horse. He traveled on foot still... which kept them staggered.

She ambushed these hoards of darkspawn as they banded together, unnaturally adept at finding them, taking them out, tearing them apart. Alone.

He fought with her, when he caught up to her in time. She never acknowledged him during the fighting. Did not speak. Refused to interact, preferring to take a hit than ask him for help. But they fought together, in silence, in tandem, in two separate planes of existence almost… and when the fight was done, she would walk away from him, searching out the next one. And on and on he followed.

And in this way, they fought back the darkness together. That was her life, he gathered. She was alone… she had no home, no connections, no family…

And neither did he.

Part of him wanted to interpret her allowance of him in the battles as a form of forgiveness… but he really knew better. She hated him. Purely and without complexity. But… if they were both alone in this world… well, he was fine spending the rest of his life like this.

He didn’t really have a sense of time any longer. They had slipped into a place where time didn’t matter. The battles were endless… comforting and repetitive… it could have been months, years… decades. He didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

But time began again, one day, as she stopped in a port city.

He held back, her shadow, and watched her make eye contact with a figure that approached, a pale blue cloak hooding her bright red hair.

Leliana.

He stepped closer, catching just the last few words of Leliana’s speech.

“…the fever… she’s very weak…”

Ava pushed her hair out of her face, her eyes wide, “Who’s with her now? If you’re here--”

“Zev. I know you’d trust him.”

“Let’s go. Now. Let’s--”

“And Alistair?”

Leliana looked at him, having known he was there all along. Stealth had never been his strength. She was as beautiful as ever, but there were dark tired circles beneath her clear blue eyes.

“No.” Ava bit, glaring at him.

“Ava…” Leliana turned on her, “Be reasonable.”

“No!”

His heart thudded in his chest as he tried to piece together what this exchange could possibly be about. He closed the distance, “Leli… what--”

“Tell him nothing!” there was panic in Ava’s voice, as something started to crack.

Leliana shook her head, “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore, Ava. You left her with me--”

“Her??” he looked back and forth between both of them, “Who are you talking about??”

“Alistair, you have a daughter,” Leliana looked at him, ignoring Avarie who laid into her, cursing her as she continued to speak, “Her name is Livia. She is… clever. Beautiful. She has been ill for sometime… and… I tried to reach Ava, but.. I couldn’t find her. She’s alive, but she’s very weak…”

He glared at Avarie, then took a few steps back, “You... never told me… a daughter?!”

“…and I can’t believe you, you of all people would do this to me--” Avarie continued, sneering, pacing beside Leliana and ignoring him.

“This isn’t about you. It’s about Livi. She wants you… she’s been very brave, but… she’s gone through this without her mother… or her father.”

He took Leliana’s shoulders between his hands, “Please… where is she?”

Avarie fell silent, shaking her head, leaving them both to mount her grey horse, thundering away.

“I’ll take you to her,” Leliana watched Avarie ride off, “You hurt her, Alistair.”

“I know…” he released her, “I know it’s my fault. But… I want to make it better… I just.. Maker… a daughter? L-Livia?”

She took his hand, leading him.


	13. Chapter 13

Alistair lingered outside the house.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to go inside.

The house was set against a sloping hill… surrounded by brilliant wildflowers, drenched in bright warm sunlight. Like something out of a fairy tale.

His daughter was inside. As was Avarie, who was arguing loudly with both Zevran and Leliana.

His family was inside… inside this bright safe house.

And he felt the darkness in his marrow acutely, like an ache. He thought about turning around… just… walking away. Leaving. It would be easier.

The house was quiet, the argument ceased. He waited.

He waited for a long time, standing outside, like a sentinel.

Hours later, the door opened and to his surprise, it was Avarie who exited.

“Come with me,” she said as she walked past him, to her horse.

Swinging herself up, she waited, her face turned away from him and set into hard lines. There was a roan colored horse tied beside her, and he crossed to it, mounting awkwardly.

She led the way, towards a meadow that lay between the house and a little fairy tale village center.

“I’m supposed to buy you a drink, in public, and talk to you,” she said ahead of him.

“I don’t drink,” he said, quickly, “And why--”

She kicked her horse’s sides, galloping ahead of him further.

In the tavern, she sat with a large flagon in front of her. One was in front of him, but he did not touch it.

They sat in silence for a long time. Silence… they could handle.

“So…” she stared past him.

“I don’t think I’m awake. This is… it’s got to be a dream,” he said, more to himself than to her.

“Because it’s so magical and it's working out so well?”

“Is she… is she all right?”

She looked at him, her lips pursed, “She’s... I think she’ll be okay… I’d really rather be there with her than here with--”

“Were you never going to tell me?”

“No. I wasn’t. I wasn’t planning on ever seeing you again, really. So… no. Didn’t plan ahead for a heart to heart--”

“She’s my child, Avarie. I have a right--”

“No. No you don’t! You gave up any rights you may have had when you left us.”

“I didn’t know…” he grimaced, “I had no idea…”

“And if you did? What? Would… would that have changed anything? Would you have stayed?”

“I… I don’t know,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “I was… I was so mad. I was so mad at you, at him. I was young--”

“I was young too, you bastard. I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought I was going to die… I really did. How could I have possibly expected to survive that... alone? But, then… the biggest joke of all was that I did. I lived, and I walked away from a dead dragon and I was a hero. The Hero. And I had a baby inside of me… and I was terrified.”

"When did you find out?"

"Just before you showed up in that hallway."

"Fuck..."

“Let’s just… let’s go back.”

“Thank you,” he said, reaching boldly across her table for her hand.

She said nothing, but let him touch her. It was enough.


	14. Chapter 14

She was miniature in the wide bed, nestled in against oversized pillows, a quilt tucked under her chin and fast asleep.

Fuzzy curls of red-gold hair haloed her face. Rosy cheeks, freckles… her mother’s nose. She snored very softly, evenly, tucked under the quilt tucked up under her little squared chin.

He stood across the room from her, as far from her as he could get in the small space without leaving the room, barely breathing. Avarie had stayed in the main room, sitting in a wooden chair beside the fire, alone as Zev had gone while they were at the tavern. Leliana had come in with Alistair instead, and she waited for him to move now.

“I… I don’t want to wake her up,” he whispered.

She took his arm, pulling him towards the big bed, “It’s fine. She sleeps like the dead.”

He’d never had much experience with children… even when he was one. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was, so he was content to just stand there, watching her. Leliana sat carefully on the edge of the bed, reaching up to stroke the girl’s hair lightly.

“She’s doing much better now. She can eat and keep it all down… so, she’s getting stronger.”

“Thank you… for taking care of her.”

“Of course. I’m not exactly the maternal type, you know… but.. we’ve done all right together.”

“Ava left her with you… why?”

She looked up at him, “It’s a long story… and one she should tell you herself… but she won’t. It’s all locked up. Please, Alistair, sit down," she grinned, "You’re making me nervous.”

He glanced back, seeing a little wooden chair against the wall. He pulled it over and sat, the wood creaking under his weight.

She laughed, “Hopefully that will hold you up. That's her time-out chair. It's child-sized!”

He wiggled back and forth, testing, “Seems okay. I promise I’ll fix it if I break it.”

She patted the bed, “Sit here?”

“No… what if she wakes up? I… I’m a stranger, aren’t I?”

She nodded, and cleared her throat, “After you left… after everything ended… Avarie told me, about the baby… about Livi. We made plans to travel out of the city together, to find a safe place to go… but she met an old friend, a man from her childhood… she introduced me to him, and then they were gone. I didn’t hear from her for over a year after that… which broke my heart. I was so worried about her, and about the baby… she was so lost after everything… I hated thinking that something terrible would happen… but I heard nothing. So I had to move on. Go on with my life.”

Livi sighed and rolled over in her sleep, facing him more fully.

“She showed up at my doorstep one day, out of the blue, with this baby in her arms… she was covered in blood and so was the Livi… it was terrifying. She was out of her mind… said that they had come for her, where they were living… said that one night, as she slept, the darkspawn had come to find her, came into their home… attacked them as they slept, like monsters in a story… they fought back, and she saved Livia… but.. her friend… her man by that time… they killed him.”

“Oh…” he said, “Maker, Ava…”

“She had this new baby… and she was terrified that they would keep coming for her… that they would always know where she was. So she gave Livi to me, and said that she was going to find them before they found her… and then she was gone. I’ve seen her when she shows up since then… maybe twice a year… Livi misses her terribly… and when she got sick… she knows that Avarie is her mother, I never wanted to lie to her about that fact.”

Leliana stroked the girl’s leg through the quilt, “She loves her. I know she does. But she’s hurt and scared… and there is a darkness in her that I… it frightens me, Alistair.”

He looked at the girl, “She’s not… I mean… because Avarie and I are her parents… she doesn’t have…”

“She’s fine. Perfectly normal… if stubborn,” Leliana assured him.

“Stubborn?”

“Oh, she’s beastly when she wants to be! And very clever… too clever for her own good sometimes!”

He grinned broadly, a sense of pride welling in the center of his chest at the thought of having a daughter who was decidedly no push over.

“And she has your smile.” 


	15. Chapter 15

“I want you to leave,” Avarie stood behind him outside the house.

He had stepped out, unable to sleep, and stayed there until the dawn broke.

“Before she wakes up--”

“I’m sorry for what happened, Avarie. To your… your friend.”

She winced, “Leliana told you?”

“She did. Was he… you talked about a friend from the alienage… years ago. Was it him?”

She gnawed the inside of one cheek, “Yes.”

“I’m so sorry," he was earnest.

“He was always jumping into my fights. It was a bad habit.”

“We you… you two--”

“It’s really none of your business, is it?” she snapped.

“Fuck, Ava. _Stop._ ”

She responded to the exhaustion in his voice, and looked at him with a modicum of openness, “Yes. We were together.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Can’t ever really know that, can I? They came for me… They wanted me. They killed him. If they’d hurt her--”

“Leliana loves her,” he said, taking one careful step towards her.

“She’s safe here. But she’s not safe with me around. Or you, for that matter.”

“I will protect her with my life,” he asserted, “That’s my child--”

“You left her--”

“No, I didn’t. I left _you_. Big difference.”

She smiled bitterly.


	16. Chapter 16

Livia had surely inherited her stubbornness from both parents, Leliana thought as she watched the two of them arguing outside. She peered out of the window, seated in the little window seat. Through wavy glass, they were silent figures, dancing around each other, neither willing to give in.

She hoped that Alistair would not leave… just as she hoped Avarie would stay with Livia. Ava had wanted her to raise the girl as her own child… to lie to her… saying that it would be easier to understand. But those two… warriors, heroes… somehow messily meant to be together, to fight beside each other, to fit together… they were her parents.

“Leli?”

The girl yawned, sitting upright, her arms held out in front of her between her knees, “Where’s Mum?”

“She’s outside, do you want me to get her?”

She nodded, flipping the covers off of herself and coming over to sit in Leliana’s lap, “Yes! Is Zev still here?”

She looked out the window, seeing both figures, “Mum! That’s not Zev. Who’s that with her?”

“A dear friend of ours from a long time ago,” she responded.

“Oh. Okay,” she kissed Leliana’s cheek and got down, moving towards the door.

“Don’t you dare go outside in your nightgown, Livia Carver!”

…

“It’s not your choice to make!”

The door cracked open next to them, and Livi ran out straight for Avarie.

“Mum!!”

Avarie and Alistair paused, both of them hot in the face. She crouched, wrapping her arms around the girl. Leliana appeared a moment later with a blanket in her hands, “You are very fast!”

She wrapped the blanket around Livi who laughed with a little rattle in her chest, gazing up at Avarie with naked adoration on her face, then she looked at Alistair, “Hello.”

“H-hi,” he said, immediately feeling pathetic and unprepared.

She was beautiful, the early morning light reflecting off the gold in her hair. He lost himself for a moment, seeing all the features and similarities in her face, a perfect blend of himself and Avarie. She peered up at him with amber eyes that mirrored his own, “Are you going to stay for breakfast?”

He glanced at Avarie, who was still crouched. She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him dismissively.

“Yes, of course he is,” Leliana stated, reaching for the girl’s hand, “Let’s go inside and put something a little warmer on, yes?”

She allowed herself to be led back inside, but kept her gaze fixed on Alistair over her shoulder as she went. She had a curious expression, as if she too were trying to decipher the secret in his face.

“You leave after this. We both do,” Avarie said, standing and brushing dew from her knees.

“She’s beautiful,” he said.

“Yes. She is.”

They ate breakfast and afterwards they did not leave.

Not right away.

Not until that night, after a long sunny day with Livi, who resigned herself to sitting on Avarie’s lap for the majority of the day listening to stories. He watched her fall asleep against her mother’s chest, twisting gold curls around her fingers. He saw too, in Ava’s face, a mixture of comfort and pain that tugged at his heart… watched her smooth her hand over their daughter’s unruly hair, kiss her forehead.

In the evening, after a light dinner, Livi had fallen asleep in front of the fire. Ava had gone outside to check on her horse while Leliana was in the kitchen.

“Alistair… do you think you could help me by carrying her to bed?” Leliana asked from the kitchen.

“Oh… ah… s-sure,” he said, standing. He crossed to her, and knelt. Then he very carefully started to scoop her up.

It was the first time he had actually touched her… and it was overwhelming. The instinct in him to protect her was powerful, innate. With her in his arms, he stood up right and started carrying her back up the stairs to her room. He could hear and feel the rattle in her breathing. She snuggled in against his warmth, and he smiled, tears stinging his eyes. She was just perfect. A family he'd never thought he'd have... and she was in his arms.

He tucked her in after hesitating for a while, enjoying the soft warm weight of her too much to part with her so quickly. After he closed her door behind him. Descending the stairs, he found Leliana looking out the window.

“She’s leaving,” she said.

“What?? Now?”

“It’s what she does… Alistair, please… Livi needs her,” her tone was tired, “And she needs you.”

"I'll come back. I promise."

Leliana watched him ride after Avarie, saying a silent prayer that he would return. That they both would.


	17. Chapter 17

They traveled for a day, when he finally caught up with her at a river crossing. She was standing, her horse drinking greedily at that rocky bank.

“Why did you leave?!” he asked her.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Answer me,” it wasn't a request.

“I left because I knew you’d follow me. I left because it’s too dangerous for us to be near her… either one of us."

“So you’re just going to abandon her??”

“She’s better off with--”

“No. She needs you, adores you… can’t you see that? Stop being so fucking selfish.”

She recoiled, coming back at him with a swinging open palm, slapping him hard across the face.

“Don’t talk to me about being selfish, you arrogant son of a bitch. I’m not being selfish! I’m thinking about her every single moment of the day, of my night. But I watched the man I cared about, the man who was willing to be her father, who gave her his name, his home… my best friend. I watched him be literally torn apart in front of me. I saw that. She saw that, even though she’ll never ever remember it, thank the fucking Maker… And I’m haunted by the thought of it happening to her… and it would be my fault! My fault!”

“You can protect her better than anyone. You’re her mother…”

“We’re poison, Alistair.”

“No… we’re not! We are her parents! I don’t understand--”

“No, you don’t!” she was dressed not in armor, but in light travel clothes, the bright sun beating down on them, her cheeks and the tops of her freckled shoulders turning pink. “She’s the only thing that matters to me. Her safety… The first time I held that baby girl… she was so beautiful I couldn’t breathe. And… any, any part of my heart that still had any blood in it at all, it belongs to her. I had nothing to give him…” she hit at him, hard, “Do you understand?!”

He grabbed at her wrists, confused, frustrated, “Let me try.”

He couldn't comprehend what happened next, the logical part of his brain obliterated by the force of her mouth pressed against his, violently, hungrily… desperately. He released her wrists, holding her body, her hips which felt round and erotically feminine, in his hands. She grabbed at him, pulled him into her, and he followed her… without conscious thought… because all his faculties, everything he had ever been… all he knew was following her. He’d follow her into hell if she asked him to.

She was beneath him, and the world was just the sound of the river and her, soft and warm and writhing against him,. He devoured her mouth, hands in her long hair, fingertips tracing and remembering the shape of her skull, her tiny jaw, her throat…

“You broke my heart,” she threw her head back, exposing herself to him, vulnerable, and he descended. Kissing and biting against a spot on her neck that had, years before, elicited moans. Here, she whimpered… a sad keening sound.

“I’m sorry…” he repeated against her exposed skin, over and over, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

She pulled him onto her, tugging his weight forward, wanting to be crushed, pinned, hurt… she caught one of his earlobes between her crooked teeth and bit down, hard. He groaned and involuntarily thrust against her, his hips cradled between her thighs. He thrust again against her, feeling the heat radiating from the center of her through layers of clothing.

Frantic.

Desperate.

She reached her hand down, finding him, grasping his cock. He was hard in her palm, against her fingers as the wrapped around him, stroking with forgotten familiarity. He groaned, fumbling, reaching inside her linen pants, and finding that place… that place that had been so sacred to him… that mysterious eternity… driving a thick finger inside of her. She gasped, and clawed at his shoulders with both hands. He added another finger, thrusting deeply.

“Do it,” she shuddered.

He hesitated. His fingers stilled inside of her… his body betraying him as her hot dark wetness refocused his entire being, the smell of her rekindling something in him that had been cold for a long, long time…. He stopped.

“Please…” she ground against him, driving his fingers deeper.

He growled, deep in his throat, but pulled his arm back, his mouth hovering over hers, almost touching her lips.

“I love you.”

“Fuck me.”

She clawed at his cheek, raising four bloody lines on his skin. He held her jaw in his hands, forcing her to look at him, “I love you.”

“Fuck me.”

He thrust his fingers, brushing her bundle of nerves with his thumb. She jerked under him. He had been with other women… he had learned from their bodies, found comfort in them, the one's he could remember… but behind his closed eyes, they all had her face.

He rested his weight to her side, he traced her jaw with his fingers, still thrusting the fingers of his other hand, stroking the smooth walls, feeling her drench his calloused skin. He traced her lips, lingered over the scar at the corner of her mouth. She captured his thumb, sucking it, curling her tongue around the pad. He gasped.

“I don’t forgive you. You know that, right?”

“I can just hope that you will… some day…” He moved down, tugging her pants from her hips down her legs.

He paused, finding a large faded scar that curved from her navel to the top of her sex, very different from all of her other scars.

“She was too big,” she said, her voice shaking, “They thought I was going to die… so they cut her out of me.”

“Oh, Avarie…” he sighed, tracing the scar with a blunt finger.

Her head fell backwards as he lowered his mouth, kissing her scar with reverence, touching it with chaste lips like a religious relic while the smell of her sex so close to him driving him into a specifically male madness.

He kissed a path down, feeling her breath hitch, spreading her legs with his broad rough hands. He tentatively licked the full length of her with a light tongue, her thighs by his ears, she reached for his head, holding him in an intimate embrace. He kissed her deeply, tasting her, breathing her in. Years ago he had no idea how to give her these sensations… but now he did, and he savored everything, lifting her hips closer to himself, hands cupping her ass. He lathed her nub, and she contorted, writhing, making almost pained sounds.

“Please…” she urged him on, scratching demanding fingers against his scalp. He hummed against her in agreement.

Laying her down, he moved over her, pulling his cock free, setting himself at her entrance and pushing forward, penetrating her, into the impossible heat of her, thrusting, hard, electric, hips bones cracking together. And there was nothing gentle or loving now… nothing giving… just both of them simultaneously taking from the other.

He was on the brink, her short nails digging lightly blooded trenches in his back, over the ridges of old scars.

Rocks dug into her back. She dug her heels into the dirt and thrust back against him, harder and harder. Frenzied, the thick wet sound of him driving into her over and over blended with the sound of the water lapping on the rocky bank beside them.

He growled, possessive, his jaw against the top of her head, and she was buried in him, in the tangy male scent of his sweat, the salt of his skin, the gold hairs that glinted across his thick densely muscled body. In that moment, she missed him. She regretted the years apart. And she found just a silvery moment of the happiness they’d had so briefly there, in that moment when his jaw fell lax, and he moaned her name over and over, just as he had always done, before jerking, tensing, and spilling himself into her. He collapsed on top of her.

“I love you. Forgive me.”

She said nothing, but snaked a hand down her body, feeling their mixed fluids, and she rubbed herself to completion.

He watched her with dark eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

They did not return to the house on the hill.

They traveled forward, now side by side not staggered, on their horses.

They went south, finding a nest of darkspawn, but otherwise… the battles were few. More than anything, it was about migrating across the country together.

The fought. And at night, they fell into a pattern, a rhythm, they tended to any new wounds, cooked and ate, cleaned up, bathed if it were a possibility, then inside a shared tent, they fucked. There was no mistaking it for anything else, furious and hot, frantic. Before falling asleep, each night, he would repeat, “I love you. Forgive me.” It was a plea that never triggered any response from her.

In this way, they found a natural pattern that felt good. Domestic even… for the two of them, for the warrior and the rogue who were by their natures un-domestic. It was comforting to be on the road together, to fight and hurt and heal and pack up to move on. But he knew the travels were aimless… and while he was happy to be with her, he also longed to go back, to be with Livi… to be her father.

Something broke.

Alistair had peeled from her side in battle, careening towards the first ogre that either had encountered in years. He was reckless, unfocused. Bashing and lunging at the beast without concern for his periphery, not minding the one grinning genlock archer who was poised nearby, above, following him with a drawn arrow… She had twisted around just in time to see the arrow hit him with impossible force and accuracy in the space between his armor and his helm.

A guttural sound left him as he collapsed, grasping the shard of wood that jutted from him with trembling hands. She could smell his blood.

Her muscles coiled and she sprang herself forward. Everything happening in slow motion. She fired a shot at the archer, hitting it squarely between the eyes, then dropped her bow in the frosty grass and drew her blades. She flew over Alistair, blades held high. She made impact in the chest of the ogre, her small size to her advantage. She stabbed, again and again, climbing upwards, leaving massive internal damage as she scaled it’s stinking body. With all the air and power left in her, she plunged her sword into the ogre’s face, and twisted. The body fell beneath her, an earthquake, and shudder. She slit its throat, just to be sure, and then hopped away.

The field was still. She threw off her helm and tugged off her gloves, knees hitting the ground hard and she took in what was happening. Blood pooled beneath him, coated the side of his face, his hair. Eyes rolling white, a wild thing, desperate wet gasps. The arrow jutted from the side of his neck, the end buried impossibly under his armor, having been fired from above.

He looked at her, reaching weakly with his other hand.

With all the calm she could manage, she reached across and pulled his clenched hand from the wooden end of the arrow.

“It will be okay,” she lied.

Alistair’s body shook. Avarie gently held his face, “Look at me,” she said, her voice hiding any trace of fear, “I love you. I forgive you.”

His blood was hot and sticky under her palm. His focused had held for a moment, and there was a palpable beat of white energy that shot between them, but in an instant it was gone, and he slipped into the dark.

She had screamed without hearing herself.


	19. Chapter 19

Ava sat beside the fire alone. The camp was uncomfortably quiet. She gnawed on a torn cuticle for a long while, her gaze in the fire. She tasted iron, and realized that his blood was still on her hands.

She had never expected to fall in love. It was never part of her plan. Love ended badly. It had for her father, who had foolishly fallen for a wild woman… a woman who would eventually leave her own daughter tucked into a tree holding a sack of stolen coin before hurling herself off a cliff and into the grey sea below. She was to marry, but she had decided not to love the man… Nelaros. Her groom. It didn’t end well for Lennox, who had loved her his whole life… broken thing that she was. And he was cold and buried now for all the good it did him.

And Alistair.

She stood on numb legs and returned to the tent where he lay. In the filtered light, he looked dead. Too still, too grey. The arrow had been removed, and she had done everything she could to repair the damage, to inexpertly mend the blood paths that had been torn. The linen that was bound over the wound was still clean, white.

She missed having a healer, she missed magic… it had been like having a mother there, that feeling she remembered from the brief window of her life where she had a mother… a mother who kept her safe, could defend her from the whole ugly brutal world… someone who could always come in and fix what was broken, miraculously, no matter how big the cracks were.

She sat heavily beside him, and took one of his cold hands between hers. Love was fraught with loss. And today, she had thought she was going to lose him.

In fact, she had lost him. She had lost him in that moment, and it made her feel sick. He was a bright golden spot in this mire of gloom and cold ash that was her life. He and Livi, her two gold stars.

She wet a rag and tried to clean a bit of the blood from the side of his head, avoiding coming too close to the wound.

“You idiot,” she said quietly, her voice cracking as the tears finally came. Hot and bitter. She wrung the cloth out and kept cleaning until the water in the pail was too bloodied to continue.

She leaned over and kissed his bloody cheek tenderly.


	20. Chapter 20

When he woke, it was to warm buttery rays of light and a little girl cured up beside him in bed, her head on his chest, her fingers tangled in her own hair. He wrapped his arms around her, and she sighed in her sleep, snuggling in closer. He could smell bacon, and he grinned sleepily, hugging his daughter more tightly.

After that day with the ogre, he had recovered slowly. With no magic to assist him, it had been a long, painful process. The muscle had been ripped, and even now he had much more limited mobility there. He wouldn't go so far as to say crippled, but the damage was beyond mending in many ways. Still… he lived.

Ava had been there beside him when he woke.

She’d been there since.

Livia stirred against him, waking up with a burst of energy, “Wake up, Alistair!! We’re going to the sea today!”

She had always known him as Alistair. They had never pushed the issue… and he was content with her not calling him by any other name. It would be unfair, he had decided a long time ago, to expect her to immediately start calling a man she’d only known for the last few years as anything but his given name.

He grinned down at her, “Oh, really? I’d completely forgotten! I made other plans--”

She laughed, “No you didn’t! Liar! You remember. We made sandwiches last night to take with us.”

“Oh, the sandwiches! Yes, now I remember,” he tickled her ribs, and she squealed, pulling out of his grasp and bounding out of the room, calling out to Avarie.

He lay in bed for a few moments longer, staring up at the ceiling.

From time to time, it still took him a few moments to adjust to the dramatic change his life had undergone. Part of him occasionally believed that when the arrow hit his neck that day, he had indeed died… and that this was some gift of an afterlife. Sometimes that was easier to believe than the alternative…

He rolled his head to the side, looking at the bright clear sky. Below the window was a little low bookshelf. When they’d moved in here, as Leliana moved out (she had been more than happy to give them their space), she had handed him one of the books that was now permanently stationed on the bottom shelf. A water stained, battered journal.

Her journal from the Blight.

When Leliana had given it to him, he had immediately recognized it. He had shown it to Ava, who shrugged, and told him he was more than welcome to look through it. With a deep breath, he cracked it open. A desiccated rose fell from inside the back cover, falling to pieces on the floorboards. He picked up the pieces with trembling fingers, putting them in a little pile on the table.

Inside was page after page of nothing but drawings. Beautiful drawings. Artistic, and delicate… and so real. He touched the lines softly, tracing the shapes, the memories, impressed into the paper.

Their entire adventure together was here. Everything. With no words.

He was there. All of their companions were. All their blemishes, all their beauty. She saw everything, recorded all of it.

His chest constricted, turning through pages that were just him… nights spent together. Confessions. The first night she had laid out in front of him, everything. Bare and warm. She had drawn them together, naked, lying on their sides and gazing at each other with that quiet calm that had become so familiar, a place to strive for everyday, to survive to see again.

He continued. Turning. The Landsmeet loomed.

And on the page where it should have been chronologically… there was nothing.

She had left the page blank. A white blank page. Every page before it was full, and every page after… teeming. Including the birth of a daughter on the very last page, the focus of that last drawing not on the pain or the fear, but on the beauty.

This morning, he stared at the spine of the journal. It sat on the shelf, collecting dust.

“Alistair! There’s bacon!!”

A clear eight-year-old voice called out to him, and he swung his legs over and got up, stretching as he opened the bedroom door.


	21. Chapter 21

Ava set a plate of eggs and bacon and thick brown bread in front of Livi, and smiled up at him.

“Good morning. There’s tea.”

“Music to my ears,” he said, following her into the kitchen to grab his own breakfast. She stood at the butcher’s block in the center, her back to him, buttering a slice of toast for his plate. He stepped up behind her, lacing his long arms around her middle. She leaned against him.

“Mmmm… you’re very warm,” she said, tilting her head back to rest against his chest.

“You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen,” he breathed against her temple, kissing her head slowly, “and you make bloody good toast.”

She’d explained to him as he lay in that tent why she wanted to live out the rest of their days as a family. The things that she’d realized as she pulled him back from death that day… the way that she missed her own mother so terribly… how much she missed the people who were gone... people who did not have a darkness in their blood... she knew that they didn’t have long lives ahead of them, but then, no one ever really does. There is no guarantee on anything, she’d said, for anyone.

They finished breakfast, and then Livia and Alistair set out. She rode with him, and she peered up at him from within the secure cage of his arms with wide eyes as the rumbling sound of the ocean reached her ears.

“Excited?” he asked her. She nodded enthusiastically.

They dismounted. He tied the grey horse to a post and the two of them walked together, down a path to the beach. He sat in the sand sat and pulled off his boots, then helped her remove hers. She twisted her feet in the smooth sand, grinning broadly up at him. He left the pack with their lunch on the dry sand there with their boots, and then started towards the water, and she caught up to him, slipping her hand into his.

Cold salty water greeted their toes. She held on to him and leaned towards a horizon that looked close enough to touch, “It’s the whole world out there, Alistair.”

A larger wave rolled in, and she giddily shrieked, “Lift me up, Da!”

He pulled her up, and she giggled as he buried his face against her neck. _Da._ Her _Da_.

He kissed her cheek, and walked further out into the water, up to his knees, and she delighted as each wave rolled in, splashing up at her bare feet.


End file.
